A late-summer haze was embracing Venice, making the city appear even more surreal and giving the light of the sun reflected in the lagoon a comforting warm glow.
I had one day left in Venice and decided to visit La Biennale.
Six years ago, the work of art that had struck me most was an installation in the Russian pavillion. Rows of manikins dressed up as hooded monks were kneeling on the floor, rocking back and forth in some kind of strange mechanical meditation. The effect was overwhelming, the ambiguity of the scene intriguing. Were these mechanical ghosts chanting the prayers Mother Russia needs to find its lost soul again? Were they rocking back and forth to relieve Mother Russia’s pain?
Intriguing.
I don’t know if I would use the same word for The Last Riot, the 3D film exhibited this year in the Russian pavilion. It is described as a 3D animated model of cyberspace and a post-apocalyptic vision.
To the music of Wagner, we are transported into the middle of a mountain landscape, which is a mixture between a traditional Russian fairy tale (with merry-go-rounds and castles in pastel colours) and an unsettling utopia populated by rockets, windmills, trucks and trains. The scene changes and we are in the middle of a desert with giant lizards, oil wells and tanks. The scene changes again and we are in some kind of Miami Beach of the future which seems to be populated only by pink flamingos. These scenes are interrupted again and again by images of youths with the looks of fashion models, rioting and struggling in a war against themselves, a war without difference between aggressor and victim, male or female, good and bad, fate and free will.
The Last Riot is an enchanting, captivating feast for the eye. But when you try to dwell on its meaning, things get more complicated. Just when you start to believe that the whole thing is nothing more than a modern Russian fairy tale, an unsettling feeling takes form in your belly. Is it about society in a post-apocalyptic world which has experienced the failure of energy and technology? Is it about the need of humanity to constantly wage wars against itself? Or is it - like in the case of the rocking monks - about Russia’s vision of itself and its future?
We might be better off not knowing.
As a communicator, I was delighted to visit the installation by Iraqi-born artist Adel Abidin in the Nordic Pavillion. “Abidin Travels - Welcome to Baghdad” is a spoof travel agency where visitors can “book” trips to hellish Baghdad, “win” prizes and “rent” Humvees.
I have already talked on this blog about creative means of communication that can be used to make audiences relate to human suffering. Abidin’s “travel agency” is a brilliant example.
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